


sometimes everything is touch and go

by santanico



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Enthusiastic Consent, Fake Marriage, Fluff, M/M, amputee character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve's mission is to infiltrate a suburban neighborhood as a married couple. In theory, it should be difficult, but it also kind of isn't.</p><p>
  <i>Bucky hesitates. “It’s undercover. We’ve done undercover before.” He shrugs.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Steve laughs again. “This isn’t exactly the same as infiltration under the guise of being regular civilians. What is it again – what did Fury’s email say?” Steve pauses, tapping his chin with his index finger. “ ‘Mr. and Mr. Rogers are a couple who have recently moved into a neighborhood in northern Colorado. You are to maintain an image of high-standing and societal grace.’ That’s not exactly your scene, is it, Buck? Especially the part about being Mr. Rogers.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes everything is touch and go

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: fic deals with trauma to a point (not extensively) - a coma, and the loss of bucky's arm.

“This is a terrible idea,” Bucky snaps, half-tempted to lean across Fury’s desk and smack his hand on the wood. He folds his good arm over his chest, his prosthetic left resting on the arm of the chair.

Clint says, an air of sarcasm in his voice, “It’s not like it’ll be trouble.”

Bucky turns his head just far enough to shoot a strict glare at Barton. “Why don’t _you_ try pretending to be married to Steve fucking Rogers for a day and see how it goes?”

Clint snorts and rolls his eyes, much to Bucky’s dismay. “See, that would be difficult, because between the two of us, there’s more missing than a marriage license.”

He doesn’t want his face to go as red as it does, but – he ducks his chin and scoffs and clenches his good fist. “Maybe you should go undercover with _Natasha_ then,” Bucky grits out, because it’s the best he’s got. Clint flinches and puffs out his chest like he’s about to argue but they’re interrupted before he has a chance to shoot something back.

“You know,” Nick Fury says in that slow dangerous voice of his. “This is a mission. Not some _game_. It’s called undercover for a reason, Mr. Barnes. It’s irrelevant who your partner is, we just happen to understand that you and Agent Rogers are compatible in many ways. If I had sent you and Agent Barton out on this mission, I would expect the exact same results.”

“Like hell,” Barton spits, and Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says icily, sparing a look at Clint, who leans back in his seat and folds his arms in a similar fashion.

Fury is glaring at them. Bucky finally sighs and relents. “I still think it’s a terrible idea,” he asserts, then withers at Fury’s gaze. “But I’ll fill him in. We’ll fly out tonight, probably.”

“Good. You’re dismissed, Agent Barnes. No, Barton, not you. I said Barnes.”

Clint groans and Bucky lets himself laugh. He hopes Barton gets chewed out.

-

Steve is sitting on their couch when Bucky gets back from the meeting. He’s eating popcorn and watching a Disney film on Netflix with the volume mostly turned down and the subtitles on.

“Enjoy your day off?” he asks and Steve shrugs, focused on the screen. “ _Lilo and Stitch_?” Bucky asks as he hangs his jacket on the back of a kitchen chair. “Haven’t you seen it?”

“Nope,” Steve says, jamming another handful of popcorn in his mouth and not turning around. “Coma, remember?”

“You haven’t been in a coma for…” Bucky sighs instead of finishing the sentence with _six years_ because it’s pointless. Steve loves to use his coma as an excuse to look at the pop culture nonsense he missed out on for the two years he was asleep. Bucky frowns and takes out his phone, Googling when _Lilo and Stitch_ came out. “You weren’t even…” He sighs, because the argument isn’t worth it – even if the movie did come out a full two years before the accident that put Steve in a coma.

Bucky is grateful, nonetheless. He doesn’t like thinking of a young Steve Rogers who refused to wake up. He doesn’t like thinking of the person he was when Steve was asleep, either. He doesn’t like thinking of the mistakes he made.

Bucky ends up lounging on the couch next to Steve, throwing his legs over Steve’s lap and reaching for his popcorn. They’re best friends, to say the least, and there’s nothing but comfort as they finish off the movie. The aliens crossdress. The family is reunited. It’s sweet. Bucky remembers liking this film.

“How’s the arm?” Steve asks as the credits start to roll. He still doesn’t really look at Bucky, just reaches for the remote to turn off the BluRay player.

“It’s good,” Bucky says easily, moving his new prosthetic and curling the fingers slowly. It’s not like it used to be, but it’s a part of him now. He’s adjusting.

“Good,” Steve says. They’re quiet for a moment, finishing off the popcorn between them. Steve licks his fingers and then grabs a napkin, which Bucky finds both gross and endearing. “So what do you have to tell me?”

Bucky chuckles. “You always know when there’s news,” he says. “Gotta give you credit for that, man.”

“It’s my job to know,” Steve says, shrugging. “What does Fury want?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, getting a napkin for himself and wiping off his fingers. “Well. It’s kind of ridiculous, actually. I tried to get Fury to let us off the hook but no dice. He wants…what exactly does he want?”

“You’re stalling,” Steve says quietly.

“Maybe,” Bucky admits, then sighs. “We’re posing as a married couple. It’s an undercover op in Colorado. I said we’d…fly out tonight?” Bucky clears his throat, trying to gauge Steve’s reaction. “He said there’d be tickets at the airport when we got there.”

Steve still doesn’t look at him. Not even a cursory glance. His expression doesn’t really change either, which is sort of…weird. “Sounds good.”

“…Sounds good?”

Steve nods and pushes himself to his feet. “I’m gonna go pack. Okay.”

Bucky frowns and watches as Steve trails into his bedroom.

-

Steve runs his hand over Bucky’s shoulder and says, “You’re tense.”

Bucky twitches and looks away from the airplane window. They’ve been on the flight for almost twenty minutes now, and the sky is dark. Bucky can make out the lights from whatever city is below them, and he watches them blur as the plane flies towards Colorado.

“I don’t like airplanes,” Bucky mutters, eyeing Steve up and down.

“I know,” Steve says. “It’s only a few hours.”

Bucky sighs. “You were being weird earlier,” he says under his breath, and Steve frowns. “Don’t play innocent or whatever. You were being weird.”

“Weird how?” Steve asks, his hand starting to rub gentle circles into Bucky’s shoulder. Steve’s right of course, that he’s tense – his muscles are strung tight and they have been for weeks. But that sort of just comes with the job, and he doesn’t know why Steve – or anyone else – expects otherwise.

“You were…quiet. I don’t know. Maybe you were just deeply affected by that movie.”

Steve chuckles and squeezes Bucky’s good shoulder, his right one, before dropping his hand. There’s a warmth and affection to the touch that hadn’t been there before, and Bucky frowns, though he can feel himself relaxing. Always something about Steve Rogers.

“Tired, I guess,” Steve says, writing off Bucky’s concern. “Are you worried about the mission?”

Bucky hesitates. “It’s undercover. We’ve done undercover before.” He shrugs.

Steve laughs again. “This isn’t exactly the same as infiltration under the guise of being regular civilians. What is it again – what did Fury’s email say?” Steve pauses, tapping his chin with his index finger. “ ‘Mr. and Mr. Rogers are a couple who have recently moved into a neighborhood in northern Colorado. You are to maintain an image of high-standing and societal grace.’ That’s not exactly your scene, is it, Buck? Especially the part about being Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky says, snorting. “I’m a better actor than you think.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, lips still quirked in a smile. “I’d like to see what Natasha and the rest of our friends think about that.”

Bucky doesn’t reply and they drift back into silence. Steve’s hand ghosts over the prosthetic of his left arm and then rests on his knee, and it feels natural in a way it maybe shouldn’t because Steve’s his best friend. 

Now, of course, the mission is forcing him to think about Steve in ways he hasn’t before. Or, hasn’t often. Sort of. In ways that feel more real than sex dreams Bucky can brush off, or fantasies in his own bedroom that he can _also_ brush off because arousal makes people think stupid things.

It’s not like they’ll be actually married. It’s a rouse. It’s a rouse like everything is, and Bucky isn’t afraid of that. When he looks at Steve, Steve is putting headphones in and he starts lip-syncing to the words of a song. Bucky watches his mouth move and wonders what song it is because he can’t tell just from Steve’s smile.

Maybe it’s more complicated than it sounds.

-

They move into a foreclosed home the next day. Which is really fucking weird. Bucky looks around at how empty the house is and slowly, as the truck arrives and the undercover SHIELD agents play the part of helpful movers, the house starts to fill with furniture that isn’t theirs.

It shouldn’t be that weird, because they do live together anyway. Just not in a spacious, two-bedroom house with a shared bathroom in the master bedroom.

“You know,” Bucky says as the two women leave with the truck. The house is still spotless and now filled with couches, a new refrigerator, a microwave, and a big-screen TV. Bucky tries really hard not to be annoyed that there’s only one goddamn bed in the goddamn master bedroom. “I think I’ll take the couch.”

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns at Bucky for a minute. “You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“Well, it’s me or you, and I just…figured I’d volunteer.”

Steve’s frown intensifies, his forehead creasing with what is probably concern. “No, I mean…” he says, but trails off. He sighs. Bucky shrugs.

One day down. Only twenty-five left to go.

-

They meet with a few neighbors on the second day. It’s awkward at first, because even though they agree beforehand to touch and be affectionate but not be _too_ fake, Bucky still isn’t 100% certain how he feels about the tight fingers on his waist that slide down to his hip and circle the bone. It manages to be both comforting and terrifying, and it scares Bucky even more than he leans right into it and finds it easy to play James Barnes-Rogers, who’s a newlywed to wonderful, wonderful Steve.

What’s scarier is that people are completely convinced on their act.

As usual, he ignores the fact that people’s eyes linger on his arm. He’s used to that. He’s used to people thinking there’s something – defective – about being an amputee. It isn’t that people are rude or crass, they just don’t know any better.

They go through the motions though, and it’s easy enough. Maybe it’s too easy, the way that Bucky adjusts to Steve’s hand lingering on his back, their gazes sticking for that extra moment to make it seem real. And it does seem real – it doesn’t feel like an act. It feels like any other day with Steve.

Maybe that’s the reason that Fury put them together. Bucky tries not to dwell on it.

“That was exhausting,” Bucky says after the introductions have been made. “The only way it could have been worse is if you had a sweater vest and a sweater tied around your shoulders.”

Steve laughs, loud and long, and Bucky feels a smile spreading across his face without even having to think about it. He’s tired, yeah, but there’s something exhilarating about seeing Steve collapse into a chair and chuckle, catching his breath.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve says through his last fits of laughter. Bucky shrugs and leans in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Steve smile and shake his head.

“It would be funny. I don’t know if I’d be able to play married with you looking like some Stepford devil. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect build. It’s a set up for a disaster.”

Steve smiles. “Let’s get pizza,” he suggests after a beat of comfortable quiet. Bucky nods. “I’ll call.”

They end up getting a pizza with onions and tomato and mushrooms because that’s what Bucky likes, and Steve teases that it’s his reward for sleeping on the couch. But there’s something a little dark about the jab, like Steve is testing him, and Bucky spends a longer time chewing on his last piece of crust than he probably needs to, taking a long drink from the Pepsi in his glass.

-

Steve rolls his eyes and switches ears on his cell phone. Bucky lounges on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV on mute.

“Yes, well, you say ‘suspicious activity’ but how the hell are we – yeah, no, I got the report. _Nick_ \- I mean, _Director Fury_ -”

Bucky snickers because he loves when Steve is a shit, even though Fury probably doesn’t deserve it. It’s been a week of him sleeping on the couch while Steve lingers, frowning at him every night – a week of solidifying themselves as members of this new weird society of socialites who stare at Bucky’s arm and call him ‘James’ even though he specifically says ‘Call me Bucky’. There’s definitely something wrong in the neighborhood, they just don’t know what yet.

“I know we’ve only got a month,” Steve says, sounding frustrated. He rolls his eyes again at Bucky who watches the conversation from the couch. He’s starting to feel like the couch has an imprint of his ass from the time he spends on it. Which…doesn’t say good things for their investigation. “Look, we’re trying to get friendly, you know? Get to know what’s happening. If anyone’s a spy, we’ll be able to pick them out. It really can’t be that hard.” Steve pauses and sucks in a deep breath after a minute. “Yes, sir,” he says, and there’s defeat and something like humiliation in his tone. Bucky sits up and frowns, more alert as Steve nods to himself and rubs his temple with his free hand. “Understood, sir. We’ll report back ASAP.”

Steve hangs up without a goodbye and sighs.

“Steve?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve lies and Bucky snorts.

“ _Steve_ ,” he says, more solemnly. “I know you don’t like getting chewed out.”

Steve cringes. “He doesn’t want us playing house,” he says, in the sort of quiet voice that’s only reserved for when Steve is truly embarrassed or out of his element. “He thinks we’re going to get too…caught up in it, that maybe he should have sent someone else.”

Bucky opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Finally he shakes his head and says, “What the hell does that mean?”

Steve gives him a look that says _You know exactly what that means_ and Bucky looks away.

He does _not_ want to think about that.

-

They play the roles of good husbands and no one seems suspicious of the new young couple in the neighborhood, which is a good sign. Bucky has a bike in the garage and he even takes it out a couple of days when he feels himself starting to panic. Living with Steve in their apartment is a lot different than pretending to be a couple and constantly being around each other. It’s not like work because it doesn’t feel work related. And they touch in ways that start to feel unnatural, even though they’re the ways Steve would normally touch him (and vice versa) in life.

Maybe that’s the problem. Bucky is sweating and his heart is pounding when he gets back from an evening bike ride. He catches Steve sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” Bucky asks, though he knows the answer to the question, which is _When I’m fucking stressed as shit_ , same exact words, agitated tone. Bucky expects a similar answer and a glare but Steve just shrugs, kind of helplessly.

Bucky trots inside and gets a water bottle out of the fridge before heading back out and sitting in the lawn chair next to Steve. He picks the pack of cigarettes up from off the ground and gestures for a lighter. Steve looks at him for a long time and then digs into his pocket, pulling out a red lighter and lighting the tiny flame. Bucky shifts and lights his cigarette and sits back as he takes a deep drag. He’s not supposed to smoke, because of the prosthetic and some tiny little heart issues he tries not to think about because they could lead to him losing his job, but he does occasionally too. And it feels good, with sweat dripping down his back, to indulge in a short high.

“Since when do _you_ smoke?” Steve asks quietly, and Bucky laughs.

He doesn’t answer the question, and Steve doesn’t ask him to again.

As Bucky watches the sun set and bleed out in the sky, he wonders why they haven’t kissed. It isn’t – purposeful, he doesn’t think. He isn’t avoiding kissing Steve, it just hasn’t come up yet. Maybe because the PDA doesn’t need to extend that far. Maybe because they’re both actually scared to do anything but don’t want to admit it.

Complicated.

Definitely complicated.

When Bucky looks at Steve, he’s stubbing his cigarette out with the heel of his shoe.

Bucky breathes in the smoke, and imagines that Steve tastes like the cigarette he just crushed under his toe. Bucky’s chest clenches.

He licks his lips, and Steve gets up and goes inside.

When Bucky finishes, he can hear the shower running upstairs.

Bucky lies down on the couch and listens to the wall-clock ticking.

-

Steve and Bucky map out three names to send to Fury after about two hours of arguing back and forth about suspicious characters.

“It’s intuition, Steve,” Bucky snaps, pointing at the photograph from the driver’s license of a woman down the street. “I can just tell, you know? I’ve been in the _field_ , I know these things.”

“And I know these things too,” Steve grits back, glaring at Bucky from across the kitchen table. It’s a domestic scene besides the bitter arguing, both of them in casual dress with leftovers on the counters from their earlier dinner. “But we can’t just send Fury stuff based on _guesses_.”

“Well,” Bucky says, smirking, “Maybe if you were better at gathering evidence we’d have more ideas.”

Steve looks hurt for a split second before he steels his gaze. “Fine,” he says, “she goes in the ‘maybe’ pile.”

“No!” He grabs the picture of the woman and slides it to the other side of the table where the photo of the only person they’ve agreed upon so far is sat. The suspects pile, which is just one name, address, and photo. “Come on, give me at least _one_ , Steve.” He’s more desperate now, and he lets his eyes soften as he leans across the table. Steve leans back in response but he relaxes, letting out a sigh.

“Fine. She’s a suspect. And we can talk about it later.”

Bucky grins, slapping his hand over the two pictures. “You get to pick the last suspect,” he says, like it’s a reward. 

Steve rolls his eyes but he smiles anyway. “Hey, do you wanna…sleep in the bedroom today?”

Bucky frowns. “I already agreed to take the couch,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t wanna kick you out.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says, straining his voice. The mood changes suddenly from melted tension to something much more desperate. Bucky finds himself stuck in his chair, afraid to move, as he looks back at Steve. “We can switch for one night.” It doesn’t sound like what he meant to say, but Bucky nods. He doesn’t want to argue anymore.

Mostly, Bucky paces the bedroom. He leaves the door slightly ajar and listens to the TV in the living room downstairs, the different channels and the different narrators talking about alligators and zebra, the importance of protecting out ecosystem, _America’s Funniest Home Videos_. Bucky tries not to feel too weird about the fact that the sheets smell like Steve, this sort of clean almost-musk that would be overwhelming if Bucky wasn’t so goddamn used to it. There’s already little hairs stuck to the pillow, and as Bucky steps into the attached bathroom, he feels like he’s invading someone else’s home.

He rests in bed, above the sheets, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Eventually the TV goes off, and he hears Steve shuffling around in the kitchen. He doesn’t think about it before he says, a little louder than usual, “Good night.” He isn’t sure if Steve hears him until there’s a creaking at the bottom of the stairs and the same words are echoed back up to him in Steve’s soft voice.

-

They’re invited to a dinner party. Which seems ridiculous, but Bucky just nods when the couple next door asks them over.

“Do we have to bring anything?” he says, keeping his voice warm and comforting. He’s not the best actor in the world, by far, but he seems to keep them from thinking anything’s wrong. This couple, at the very least, aren’t on the list of suspects. Not even close. Everything about them is _weird_ instead of fake normal. They have two kids and a basketball hoop in their driveway. The mother always has flyaway hairs and wears too much mascara. But they’re happy people, and they don’t stare at him. They smile instead.

“Oh no,” says the woman whose name he’s forgotten. “Just get here with Steve at around six, okay?”

“That sounds great,” Bucky says with a smile. “I’ll let him know.”

Steve, to Bucky’s surprise, looks exasperated. “Why are we keeping this up? Fury is doing background checks on our list of suspects and once they catch something they’re going to send other agents out and we’ll be gone again. So what’s the point?”

Bucky – doesn’t have a good response to that. 

“Well,” he says, “I already agreed that we could go, so it’ll just look suspicious if we don’t now. So, put on your big-boy pants, okay? I don’t know what you’re so grouchy about.”

Steve glares at him for a short moment and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says, “we can go to dinner with strangers and pretend to be a normal couple instead of admitting who we really are.”

Bucky doesn’t have a good response to that, either, and just raises an eyebrow.

They leave at quarter to six and bring salad that Steve makes to kill the time, despite Bucky arguing that the couple agreed they didn’t need to bring anything. Steve refuses, and it’s probably just because he needs some way to busy his hands. Bucky doesn’t really blame him – things aren’t exactly at their most comfortable, for whatever reasons.

The couple is – nice. Weird, but nice. They’re the average white, middle-class couple living in modern suburbia. They’re the kind of people that make Bucky feel like his job is worth doing, because they’re innocent.

“So,” says the woman, who Bucky thinks is named Eleanor or Addie or one of those uncommon but well-known names that some women have. “How did you two meet?”

Bucky shoots a look at Steve, hesitating. They discussed their backstory once, but had never gotten into detail with anyone because most of the talk has been short, saying, “We met through work” and most people just nodded at that and didn’t ask further.

So Bucky says, “We met through work,” because it’s familiar, and Steve nods.

He adds, “Bucky was my assistant.”

Bucky shoots him a quick glare and then plasters the smile back on his face.

The husband laughs, poking at his salad. “Why not just call yourself James?” he asks. “Something wrong with the name?”

“Dunno,” Bucky says, glad to have the topic off their loving past. “Guess it just stuck when I was a kid, and James is just one of those dull names, you know. Everyone’s named James.”

The wife chuckles. “Bucky is cute. So you two met at work? What is it you do, Steve?”

Steve smiles now. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, which was what they had agreed upon. “And Bucky was hired as my desk assistant after college and let’s just say…he stuck around, despite my moods.”

Bucky snorts. “Your moods,” he mutters, shaking his head. “That’s what you call it.”

Steve hums. The husband says, “You must have been an impressive assistant to have caught Steve’s eye.” He smiles at Bucky who pours himself a glass of lemonade and starts to cut himself a piece of roast chicken. “Your own boss.”

“He’s the boss everywhere but the bedroom,” Bucky agrees easily, smiling when Steve chokes on his mouthful and grabs his napkin to cover himself as he coughs. The couple just laughs. “Anyway, yeah, he must have been impressed by something.”

Bucky watches Steve bite his tongue and holds back a snicker. Maybe the blatant innuendo was unnecessary, because Steve’s face is red.

“Ellen and I met at a career event in college. We didn’t go to the same school, but we both wanted to go into the same healthcare field and we were in for the same internship.” So, her name is Ellen. Bucky tunes most of the rest of the story out until the guy finishes by saying, “…That’s how we knew. How did you two know there was something mutual?”

Bucky hesitates again, taking a deep breath. He’s about to speak up, bullshit something, when Steve says, “I always knew.” He looks at Bucky and there’s a moment where Bucky’s stomach twists and he thinks he’s going to dry heave. Steve’s hand rests on his thigh and he stares at Bucky, only barely blinking. Bucky licks his cracked lips, his breath caught in his chest. If he ends up getting sick all over Steve, he’s not going to take the blame. “It took Bucky time to adjust to being attracted to his boss.”

Bucky is sort of expecting it when Steve leans in but he doesn’t know what to do, his entire brain spinning because Steve’s mouth is warm and it’s comforting and it’s the closest to chaste a kiss can be, barely the press of lips on lips. Bucky doesn’t really kiss back because there’s no time. It’s a second, one of those barest moments that always catches Bucky off guard.

The couple smiles at them, and Bucky adjusts in his seat.

They finish dinner with boring chatter.

-

It’s nearly nine in the evening when they get home, walking across the lawn without touching but still close. As soon as Steve shuts the door, Bucky turns around and rounds on him, grabbing Steve by the collar and shoving him against the wall next to the door.

It might be a little unnecessary, but as he breathes hard through his nose, glaring at Steve, it feels like it’s what he needed to do.

“What the hell?” Steve chokes out, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and tugging out of his grip. Bucky steps back and drops his good arm, clenching his fingers. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this angry, or the last time he wanted to punch someone the way he wants to punch Steve right now.

“You – you fucking kissed me,” he snaps, and – it comes out sounding really pathetic, but he can’t help it because he’s so goddamn enraged that he isn’t sure what else to say. “You...used me.” And that sounds even worse.

Steve straightens his shirt, leaning against the wall and furrowing his brow. “We’re married,” he says, pushing his hair back. “We’re supposed to be married, you know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Bucky snaps, turning around and starting to pace down the hall and back again. Steve is still, frowning at Bucky as he half-stomps along the wooden floors. “Fuck.” He steps into the kitchen and tugs off his jacket, cursing as he struggles to get it off his prosthetic hand. He throws it on the floor and pulls the refrigerator open, grabbing a can of Coke and popping it open to slug.

Steve hovers in the doorway now.

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky says between gulps. “And you know it. You absolutely know it.”

Steve’s voice is flat when he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky shouts. He can already tell he’s going to regret this anger in the morning because he’s admitting to things in a way that he hasn’t even admitted to himself before. Attraction. Love. Jealousy. Blah, blah, blah. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, but he’s angry. He’s so fucking angry. “You didn’t have to – you didn’t have to do that to get your fucking point across. And you could have…you could have just…just told me.”

Steve shrugs and there’s something cold and drawn back about his gaze, his eyes more steel than they usually are, a brightness gone. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Bucky bites his lip. “We have two more weeks. That’s all. If you – next time you want to…next time you need to kiss me. Just gives me a heads up.”

Bucky clips Steve’s shoulder on his way out the door. He misses seeing if Steve’s expression changes, and he doesn’t look back over his shoulder as he heads into the night. He walks, in the dark, until his breathing is heavy and he has to stop at a convenient store to get a bottle of water. It’s chilly, almost eleven when he gets back.

The light is on in the bedroom, but the rest of the house is dark.

Bucky doesn’t turn on any lights or go upstairs, even though he knows the light is an invitation. He yanks off his boots and his jeans and grabs his sweatpants from the downstairs bathroom. He falls into a restless sleep sometime around one in the morning.

-

When Bucky wakes up, it’s because the house smells like eggs and toast.

He refuses to look at Steve as he pours himself a bowl of cereal and milk. He sits on the couch with the TV on and simmers. He hears Steve throwing away the leftovers and feels a sick pride. It’s satisfying to know that Steve was trying to – apologize, maybe. With breakfast. But Bucky still lost in that he doesn’t get Steve’s delicious eggs. And he knows how good Steve’s eggs are.

Even though Bucky is still mad, and humiliated, it feels wrong not talking to Steve. Steve seems to avoid him, too, like he knows that there isn’t a way to mend things yet. Bucky isn’t sure, right now, if it’s going to be mended at all. Luckily they don’t really have to, not today. Bucky thinks he’ll cool down. He thinks he’ll get over it. It was just a kiss, and he knows that he’s…overreacting, a little bit. If Steve was being manipulative, then so be it. If Steve wants to – needs to – kiss him to sell the story, then Bucky should accept that. They’re getting paid, right? It’s a job. And their relationship can’t fall apart, not now, because Bucky needs his best friend and his partner and…he just needs Steve.

Maybe he should say as much.

But it’s harder than that.

-

“I made macaroni.”

Bucky looks up from his cigarette. Steve’s eyes are gentle. He smiles. Bucky blows smoke out from between his lips and then takes another drag. It feels good because it’s dirty.

Steve doesn’t leave, standing in the doorway and leaning out into the cool evening air.

“Please come in and eat with me?”

Bucky turns and stubs his cigarette out on the ground. He can feel Steve still watching him and he sighs, pushing himself to his feet and following Steve inside. Steve smiles and they settle into the kitchen table.

“Extra cheese for you,” Steve says, setting the packet in front of Bucky. Bucky doesn’t comment, but takes the shiny-silver packet and squeezes the falsely orange product out of his. Velveeta. Delicious.

He eats, and ignores Steve’s eyes watching him.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” Steve says as Bucky takes his last few bites. He drinks from his water. Steve waits. “Something on Netflix?”

At least Bucky can say he wants to go to bed after the movie, whatever they pick, and doesn’t have to get into another argument. Being with Steve, being around Steve – it’s supposed to be easy, and now it just feels like a train wreck where they’re both trying to be careful and just stuttering to an abrupt halt.

They settle in and dim the lights some fifteen minutes later, Steve clicking through the Netflix queue.

That they share a Netflix account – just says that they’re really good friends.

Bucky tells himself, for the eighteenth time since Steve said “Let’s just split the cost, come on,” with that genuine smile, all the while brushing a hand down Bucky’s arm.

‘Complicated’ about sums it up.

“How about…oh, this looks good, I’ve heard good things about this movie.”

Bucky nods but tunes it out. In reality, he’s not interested. Steve chatters for a minute or two about one of the actors, someone Bucky doesn’t recognize, and then gets quiet when he realizes Bucky isn’t paying attention. Bucky hears Steve gives an impatient click of his tongue and then the film starts. Bucky sits back on the arm of the couch against one of the pillows he uses most nights. He watches the dark screen fade to white.

In two hours, he catches the basic plot but that’s about all. He’s – tired, all of the sudden, and frustrated with himself and with Steve.

“What did you think?” Steve asks during the credits.

Bucky shrugs. “It killed two hours. I think I’m gonna go to bed now.” He’s sitting up when Steve catches him by the sleeve of his shirt. Bucky tries to steady himself but Steve is strong, even stronger than he looks, and he grips Bucky’s arm and holds him still. “Steve?”

There’s an additional shadow over Steve’s face in the dim light of the television. Bucky swallows.

He half-expects it, but it still catches in his gut, leaves him breathless. Steve kisses him for a second time, but everything’s _different_ now. This isn’t Steve trying to show something off or using him as an image. And this isn’t Steve fucking with him – at least, not that Bucky can tell.

It’s earnest in its carelessness because Steve uses his tongue and is guilty of holding Bucky’s face.

Bucky – sort of wants to pull away, mostly wants to forget that he was ever angry, that he ever doubted himself.

A flush creeps up his neck and he feels himself getting prickly and uncomfortable, finally starting to kiss Steve back because he’s not certain, not sure.

He puts his hand on Steve’s chest and pushes, gently. Steve pulls back almost too quickly, rolls perfectly back into his seat before standing and brushing his hands over the thighs of his jeans. Bucky tries not to think too hard about the pulsating in his lips, how his own mouth is quivering. Steve is staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says when Bucky doesn’t speak up.

“I don’t – think I can,” Bucky says, the words staccato and broken.

Steve nods and smiles. “Have a good night,” he says.

-

Bucky eats the scrambled eggs and toast in the morning.

They’re good, but not Steve’s best.

-

It isn’t exactly awkward, Bucky decides. Steve seems to respect the fact that Bucky is afraid. Or, well, that Bucky doesn’t want to kiss for real. And Steve doesn’t push the issue. He backs off with the PDA when they go to the grocery store, stops touching Bucky as much. Which feels…weird, and wrong, because Bucky is so very used to being touched by Steve. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about how after Steve had gone to bed, Bucky had touched his lips and tried to recreate the feeling of being kissed by Steve.

Three weeks down. They only have a few days left on the mission, and Fury has agreed on two of the suspects from their list and is looking into it. There’ll probably be field agents out by the end of the fourth week. Actually, they might have to stay a couple extra days, just to be safe.

It’s awkward, Bucky decides, that he’s gotten really used to living with Steve like this. Inside a real house, instead of a crowded apartment. It’s different because they’re both not working different shifts now. They’re home all the time, and it’s a weird job and it’s even weirder that they’re getting paid to just…be around each other.

And maybe Bucky is having a bit of a crisis because he wants to kiss Steve again, even though he knows it’s literally the worst idea in the world.

Naturally, he calls Natasha. While Steve is running errands, of course, because apparently they run errands now. That’s the kind of people they are.

“Nat,” he says when she picks up, “what am I supposed to do.”

Natasha is silent and he worries that she’s already hung up. “Not enough info, Barnes,” she says, voice flat.

Bucky smiles. Natasha’s dryness always makes him feel a little less crazy. “Well, you know what mission Steve and I are on, right?”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, Clint told me,” she says. “I can’t believe this is a real thing that they ask us to do. Undercover couples. How’s the case working out for you?”

“Well, actually,” Bucky says. “We had some disagreements at first but they’re sending agents to check on our suspects and then we should be out of here by the end of next week. It’s actually kind of sad, our neighbors are really nice…”

“Get to the point, James,” Natasha says, though her tone isn’t unkind. Bucky sighs. Maybe calling her was a bad idea. 

“Okay, well.” He stops, tries to think of how to word this. He doesn’t want her to laugh at him, though he doesn’t think Natasha would do that. She may be harsh sometimes, but she’s also protective and they love each other. It should be that simple. It was, at one point. “So maybe Steve and I…are having some trouble.”

Natasha makes a humming sound. “Couples’ therapy,” she suggests.

“He kissed me.”

“Like, in a ‘we’re-married-and-need-you-to-believe-that way? You know, in front of people?”

Bucky hesitates. “Once, yeah.”

He can almost hear Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “Once?” she says. “Do tell.”

Bucky sighs. “He kissed me at home, too. I got really mad at him. Then he kissed me. Not exactly just like that, there was stuff between, but. You get the picture.”

“I don’t think I do,” Natasha breathes. “Shit, James. Is Rogers like…What kind of kiss was it? Was it like, an accidental peck on the lips? Or was it one of those really possessive kind of kisses?”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek. “It wasn’t a peck on the lips.”

“Was there tongue?”

“There…might have…been?”

“Oh my god. Did you reciprocate?”

Bucky groans. “Kind of?” he says. “But then I sort of…I pushed him away and he stopped. And we both sort of just…haven’t talked about it since then.”

“When was this?”

“A few days ago. He made us macaroni for dinner and then we watched a movie and at the end he just sort of…grabbed me and kissed me.”

Natasha lets out a low whistle. “That sounds like fun.”

“ _Nat_.” He takes a breath. “Steve’s my best friend. I don’t want to ruin anything with him.”

“Okay, so. You didn’t stop the kiss because you weren’t into it, you stopped it because of the really tired cliché that it’ll fuck up your friendship?”

Bucky frowns. “Sometimes clichés are accurate,” he says.

“And sometimes they’re total bullshit,” Natasha shoots back. She laughs. “We slept together. And we’re better friends now than we ever were.”

“To be fair, we didn’t _just_ sleep together,” he says. “And that was complicated. We didn’t jump right back on the boat.”

“No,” Natasha admits, “but it was for the best.”

Bucky nods to himself. He knows that what Natasha says makes sense, and he knows she’s being honest with him. Natasha’s the only person in the world he trusts not to bullshit him, and her ability to make things so astonishingly clear is half of it.

“Look, Barnes,” she says after a pause. “If you just want to be friends with Steve, communicate that. He’ll understand. And he’ll respect you more for it. You two have known each other literally forever. You stayed by his side every day when he was in a fucking coma, James. And I don’t think there was anyone, besides me, who spent as much time with you in physical therapy after you lost that arm.”

“Natasha,” he says. It’s exhausting that he knows exactly what she’s saying.

“You two have been through some shit,” Natasha says. “I know what it’s like. That kind of shit. You get buried in it. You think you can’t get out and you get worried that you’ll drag someone else down with you. James, you already did this to me.” He cringes but doesn’t argue. “You didn’t want me because you thought I’d be hurt. And that’s okay. I’m over it. And I’ve had the same kind of feelings. But…don’t do that to Steve. Don’t expect him to drag you through the mud. And don’t drag him through it, either.”

She’s right, which always makes things worse. “Thanks,” he says after a beat. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

Natasha gives a dark chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out. One way or another.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Bucky warns. “I don’t need the office…I don’t need _Barton_ on my case. Or Fury, for that matter, but something tells me…”

“That he’ll figure it out?” He hears Natasha moving in the background, rustling with something – maybe a plastic bag. “He might only have one eye but he’s certainly not Barton. He caught us, didn’t he?” Bucky sighs. “Just do what’s best for you and Steve. You’re both my friends. Steve matters to me as much as you do, okay James? So don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck it up,” he mutters, and as he glances out the front window, he sees Steve pull into the driveway in the Prius they’re borrowing from SHIELD. It’s a weird image, watching him get out of the car in jeans and a jacket, carrying bags of fast food in both hands. “Look, Steve’s…back. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be careful,” Natasha warns, and Bucky hangs up on her.

He makes sure to smile at Steve when he gets in.

-

Fury calls and promises that they’ll only be on the mission for seven more days. A full week. To Bucky, it’s both a relief and something horrific. He knows that when they go back to New York, when they back to their apartment, things are going to change. They’ll be…normal again, except it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

Even though he’s a little confused, that’s definitely not what he wants.

They play married every day and even go to a fucking barbeque, which is fascinating to Bucky. 

“Everyone just…eats outside. They grill stuff. And they just call it a barbeque.”

“Who raised you?” Steve says, snorting. “It’s like you’re a wild wolf something.”

“Well,” Bucky says, leaning back and then finishing the last bite of his hot dog. “We kind of raised each other.”

Steve doesn’t look at him, which is okay. “It’s just weird, I guess. American traditions. You know, when I was in Russia, I kind of got accustomed to that.”

“Yeah, you also got accustomed to having your arm blown off.”

Bucky glares at Steve, but it’s half-hearted. Steve gives him a sideways look and then smiles and sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t do that. I don’t like when _you_ make jokes about the arm.”

“The arm,” Bucky says under his breath. “It’s like it’s not even a part of me.”

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice softer. He ducks his head down and forces eye contact. Bucky blinks and presses his lips together. “All of you is important,” he says in a hushed voice.

“I know,” Bucky says, shifting in his seat on the bench. “I wasn’t…it’s fine.”

Steve relaxes. “We only have a few more days of this. Then we can go home. Things can be normal again. You can sleep in your own bedroom.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, scratching the back of his neck. “I do kind of miss my bed. I miss our apartment.”

“Um,” Steve says. “I’ve been thinking. And like. You can think about it, and do…whatever you want.” He clears his throat and Bucky waits.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, um. If you wanted to find somewhere else to live or – or actually, if you wanted – if you wanted me to move out – then that would be okay.”

“What?” He can’t think of anything else to say. He looks at Steve, watching him for some kind of faltering, waiting for him to laugh and say it’s just a joke, he didn’t mean it. “Do you want me to move out?” He doesn’t intend to sound so incredulous but it comes out that way.

“No,” Steve says, too quickly. He’s shaking his head and looks like he’s about to say something when one of their neighbors approaches. A woman with lots of dark braids and very brown eyes. Bucky’s pretty sure they’ve been introduced but he smiles and shakes her hand and Steve does the same, anyway.

They’re getting better at the chattering part, the lies that sort of roll off the tongue. It’s easier now too, because they both know they won’t be staying for long. New York feels far away but it also feels so close and Bucky just wants to be back home. He forces a smile and nods and pretends to be interested in the woman’s oldest daughter, and he sort of is. He’d rather be distracted than think about whatever Steve was trying to tell him.

-

There’s two days left of the mission. Nick Fury is in the neighborhood, which is weird. They’re still doing surveillance and Bucky and Steve have started switching between couch and bed. Bucky still feels guilty about burrowing his face into Steve’s pillow because it still smells like him. He tries not to use it because he’s worried it’ll start to smell like him instead of Steve.

He gets up early that morning, leaves with prosthetic on the table and starts to make coffee. It’s almost seven and the sun is rising. He watches it from the kitchen window as the coffee brews and he gets a mug from the cupboard and takes a moment to pour soy milk in before he fills the mug.

Steve gets downstairs at quarter to eight.

“There’s coffee in the carafe,” he says, and it’s something he’s said a million times before, offhandedly in their apartment. But that isn’t domestic. And this is.

Fuck.

“Thanks,” Steve says, rubbing his eye with a fist and pouring himself a mug. He’s wearing loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt and as much as Bucky tries not to stare…he fails.

Steve turns and leans on the counter, sipping at his coffee. “It’s good without cream,” he says, smiling, and Bucky smiles back. “But I’ll still add some.”

“Better with,” Bucky agrees.

“You staying in today?” Steve says.

Bucky frowns. “I just haven’t put my arm on yet,” he says, almost a little annoyed. “But maybe. It’s early. What difference does it make?”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference at all,” he says. “We don’t really have much left to do…we should relax.”

“Relax,” Bucky says. “How do we go about that?”

“I dunno,” Steve says. “Go to the park. Get a fancy dinner.” Steve glances at him from over his coffee mug and Bucky makes out a smile. He smiles back and Steve continues. “Take a ride into the city. We could try the best cuisine. Get some Starbucks. We could take a _trolley_ ride. Maybe. Get massages.”

“Now you’re just pulling shit outta your ass,” Bucky says with a frown. “What do people do? Having kids sounds so…awful. But I guess we’re not really working.” Bucky leans back in his seat and sets the mug on the table. He stretches his arm over his head. “Makes the days seem so much longer and lazier.”

“And yet,” Steve says, “we are working.”

“Not anymore,” Bucky says. He runs his hand through his hair and then lifts his mug again to drink. “What are we gonna do when we get back?”

He doesn’t realize the sort of implications of the question until Steve tenses.

“I’m not moving out,” Bucky says, sighing. “That was a stupid question. Thinking I wouldn’t want to be your roommate anymore.”

“Well,” Steve says tersely, sitting down across from Bucky. “I felt like I kind of fucked up.”

Bucky gives a shrug with his good shoulder. “Not really,” he says. “I mean. I think if anyone – if anyone fucked up anything, it was me.”

Steve is quiet and contemplative for a minute. “What if no one fucked anything up?”

Bucky catches Steve’s eye. He smiles. “I would be okay with that.”

Steve gets himself a bowl of cereal and they lapse into silence again. Bucky thinks he might be okay with that, he might be okay with everything – except he kind of isn’t, and that’s confusing too. 

He watches Steve over his coffee and he tries to sort out what Steve is to him, which is hard without a pen and paper. He could make columns and list everything that’s they’ve ever done together, or for each other. It would be a long list. He’s known Steve forever, and it’s always been them. Sure, other people come and go and some of them even stay. Their jobs changed and they grew up and sometimes they lived separately and sometimes they lived together and sometimes they argued and sometimes Bucky came home with bloody fists and begged Steve to make him Alfredo pasta. Sometimes the world was upside down and Bucky thought that Steve was the only thing that was right side up.

It feels sort of like that, now.

They shuffle around the kitchen and if Steve brushes into Bucky more often than usual, neither of them says anything.

Bucky stops as he stands up from putting his bowl in the dishwasher. Steve is on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters with his hands clenched on the edge. Bucky notices the line of the loose white v-neck, the way his sweatpants hang on his hips. Steve is beautiful to look at, and he pushes his hair back and sighs just as Bucky is hesitating.

And Bucky stops hesitating. He walks the length of the kitchen and stops about a foot in front of Steve, hovering for a second before he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist. Steve’s breath hitches and he frowns at first, raising an eyebrow at Bucky who shakes his head.

“I have had enough,” Bucky says, steadying his voice, “of being seventeen again.” That’s all he can manage to say, at least in the moment, and he lets Steve absorb that and try to grapple with its meaning before he pushes himself a little closer, gets their faces inches apart and then kisses him.

The kiss is sort of flat at first, probably because they’re both confused and Steve’s still catching up with what’s happening. Bucky shifts, lets go of Steve’s wrist and instead splays his fingers over the back of Steve’s neck, pressing himself deeper into the kiss.

Which Steve is becoming more aware of and it’s showing in how he move his hips just slightly and adjusts, wraps one arm around Bucky’s waist and tugs him close. Bucky’s relieved because it’s everything he never knew he wanted so fucking badly, and considering how long he’s avoided it, it feels like a gift.

Steve leans back and breaks the kiss and Bucky rolls back on the balls of his feet. “Bucky,” Steve breathes, moving his hand from Bucky’s waist to his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Do you really not know what I’m doing?” Bucky says, rubbing his fingers against Steve’s neck. “Look,” he says, brushing his nose along Steve’s cheek. He kisses Steve’s jaw before saying, “I thought about it. And I know I was scared. And I know that’s a cliché. And I know I’ve known you forever, and that I don’t want to lose you, but that I also don’t want to regret never kissing you, because I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“Oh?” Steve says, brushing a hand through Bucky’s hair. 

“I think you knew that,” Bucky says, pressing his mouth to Steve’s throat and finding his pulse. He brushes his nose alone the line of Steve’s neck and draws his hand down Steve’s back until he’s resting his fingers on the counter and leaning into Steve’s chest.

“Maybe,” Steve says, nearly breathless. Bucky can feel Steve’s heartbeat thudding in his chest and it’s the best feeling in the world to have their bodies pressed together.

Bucky really fucking wishes he had done this earlier, even though his stomach twists with anxiety and a moment of fear.

“Hey,” Steve says, shifting their bodies and cupping Bucky’s jaw in his hands. Bucky glances up at him and gives a half-smile before Steve dips down and fills the space between them, kissing him full on the mouth. It’s a better kiss than the other three and Bucky tries to catalogue everything about it in his head. Steve breaks apart to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “Hush.”

“What?” Bucky whispers, frowning. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear you _thinking_ ,” Steve says, laughing under his breath. “Your mind’s going a million miles a minute. It’s overwhelming to me and I’m not even the one thinking it.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky mumbles. “I don’t want to forget.”

“You won’t forget,” Steve says, “I promise. I won’t let you forget.”

Bucky grins. “Good.”

There’s an inconvenient knock at the door and they both laugh.

-

It’s Fury, Barton, Wilson, and Romanoff who come into the house at around nine, and they crowd into the kitchen and make themselves at home in Steve and Bucky’s not-home in a way that makes Bucky cringe just a little bit. He sighs and excuses himself to put on his prosthetic and get dressed when Barton raises an eyebrow at his mussed hair and sweats, and Steve makes more coffee. Bucky hears Clint and Natasha bickering over whether they need to bring out creamer and sugar until Fury shuts them down with a snap and he hears Sam’s boisterous laughter.

Bucky leans in the doorway and listens to the chatter and bursts of laughter. Natasha waves at him and winks and Steve settles down at the kitchen table, gestures for Bucky to sit next to him but Bucky shakes his head and stays still. After a minute, Fury gets up and knocks on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“Tonight, we’re going in. Infiltration, blah blah. You all,” Fury says, gesturing his hands to wave over where Natasha, Clint, and Sam are sitting on one side of the table. “Will be making the first move.”

Bucky steps around the table and sits down next to Steve, who smiles and squeezes his thigh under the table. Bucky…isn’t entirely sure how he feels about that, except that it sends a jolt up his spine. He tries to refocus on what Fury is saying, even though it really doesn’t have anything to do with him and Steve. Their job is pretty much over, and they were successful – now it’s the other agents’ turn to get their salary’s worth.

“Barnes, Rogers.” Bucky sits up a little straighter and licks his lips. Steve is smiling next to him as Director Fury addresses them. “Thank you for finally getting us the names we need. It was a successful mission and I’m glad I chose you for the job. However.”

“However?” Steve says after a pause, sitting forward.

“I think we’re going to have to find someone a little less convincing next time.”

“Next time,” Natasha says, shaking her red curls and sipping her coffee. Bucky clears his throat and looks down at the table, hoping to hide the flush in his face. By the way Clint is staring at him, he’s pretty sure he failed.

“That’s fine, sir,” Steve says with the ease of someone who hasn’t just been accused of being too-intimate with his work partner. “I don’t think we would be as successful the second time around, anyway.”

“Well,” Fury says, “hopefully we won’t have to do anything like this again. But it worked for what it was, and that’s what’s important. We’ll see if we can’t do even better next time. Undercover work is hard, and you two are impressive.” Fury stares Steve and Bucky down but they say nothing. Bucky isn’t sure if the innocent act is really all that convincing, and he gets the feeling that if they try to keep things a secret, it isn’t going to last.

“So, is that all?” Clint says, leaning on the kitchen table and raising an eyebrow. Bucky is relieved to have the attention drawn away from him and Steve, though Steve seems relaxed and keeps his hand resting loosely on Bucky’s thigh, which acts as both a comfort and a terror.

“Yeah, you three are dismissed,” Fury says, with a nod towards the front. He looks back at Bucky and Steve and says, “You’ll stay here until tomorrow, and then…well, you’ll go home. We might be staying in Colorado until the arrest is sorted out. Good job.”

“Sir,” Steve says, barely waiting for Fury to finish, which earns him a dark look. “It was Agent Barnes who came up with the final suspect. I argued with him, so he’s really the one who deserves the most credit. He could have done this mission completely on his own. Bucky glares at Steve, pressing his lips together in a tight line and kicking him under the table.

Steve shrugs when Fury raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s true, sir. I was distracted. By the mission. But not in…a good way. But Bucky – James – Barnes. You know, he really took the initiative. I’m very proud of him.”

Fury scowls. “Well, thank you for the additional information, Agent Rogers. We’ll keep that in mind for when he’s up for a promotion, how does that sound?”

Fury rolls his eye when Steve nods. Bucky keeps his head ducked and ignores Natasha’s squinting.

It’s still complicated. Maybe just not as hard.

-

Bucky half-expects things to change when they get back to Brooklyn. The apartment feels familiar though, and cozy, and mostly they act exactly the same. It’s a comfort to have Steve slide around him like nothing’s changed, and to also be able to take his hand and kiss his knuckles. Steve always looks startled when Bucky touches him like that, maybe because he’s not used to it.

Bucky isn’t used to it either, but he’s getting more accustomed.

“Paychecks are here,” Steve says from the foyer. Bucky nearly runs into Steve from the kitchen and they both give short laughs as they shift around each other. They aren’t used to being back in this tight space, and they have a week off after the undercover mission, and it sort of…just feels exactly the same, except they’re home.

They sort through the mail and Bucky sighs about bills. “It’s a good thing we did get paid,” he mutters. “All the fuckin’ bills are piling up even though we weren’t here.”

Steve laughs and they’re both quiet for a minute.

“So,” Steve says. “What do you think?”

Bucky looks up. “About what?” he asks. Steve smiles.

“It feels like we’ve sort of started…a new chapter of our lives. Oh, don’t give me that look, it’s not that ridiculous. Be a romantic for once.”

Bucky snorts. “I’m always a fuckin’ romantic. I still don’t know what your problem is.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s just a thing.”

“Well, just say it. Out with it.”

Steve huffs and sets the mail down, spreading his hands over the table. “Well,” he says, and Bucky realizes that Steve looks nervous, which doesn’t make a lot of sense because Steve has become one of the most confident guys in the world. Bucky remembers that when Steve was younger, he always used to pick fights with people who got on Bucky’s nerves, even though he was smaller and sicker and just not up for it. That’s all changed but – Bucky can see that kid again, in the way he kind of shifts his shoulders and sighs. There’s anxiety in his posture, in the way he won’t look right at Bucky.

“Well.”

“Well,” Steve says, shooting Bucky a quick glare, “You know what happened. You were there.”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, that? You mean me kissing you?”

“And all the kisses before that.”

“And the couple of kisses after that,” Bucky points out. They haven’t kissed too much since the moment in the kitchen, distracted by packing and airports and Bucky almost puking on their flight – airplanes always bring back bad memories of traveling across Russia and bad crashes and blood and dark vision. 

But everything has been easy for the last couple of days, and there were a couple of really good kisses that sort of just – happened. And Bucky isn’t sure what they say about each other, maybe they’re just friends with benefits, maybe they love each other more than that, but Bucky also doesn’t really care.

Steve is Steve, and flustered Steve is hilarious.

“Yes,” Steve says, licking his lips and then brushing a hand through his hair. “I don’t know – what we want.”

“Well, I guess we should talk about that.” Bucky waits again. He wants to nudge Steve into the right direction, but he isn’t sure what that direction is. “You start.”

Steve sighs again. “I knew you would say that,” he says in a low voice. Bucky smiles.

“Well, you know me pretty well.”

Steve looks up and studies Bucky for a minute, hesitating. “It’s always been you and me,” he says. “And I don’t really want that to change. And I’m not…really that scared of it changing, to be honest. Maybe you are.”

Bucky shrugs with his good shoulder. He’s left the prosthetic off for the lazy morning he had planned and that’s comfortable, too. Being with Steve – well. “Keep going, Steve.”

Steve presses his palms onto his thighs and turns his head. “I want to do more than kiss you,” he says, and Bucky watches Steve’s blue eyes brighten with each second. “I think it’ll be like it’s always been because I think we were always just leading up to this. To what…to what we should be. I wanna wake up next to you. I wanna kiss you right after you brush your teeth.” Steve ducks his head and Bucky feels himself grinning. “If you want those same things. Then I want them even more.”

Bucky says, “Get up, Steve,” and Steve frowns at him but stands. Bucky mimics his original movements from when he first kissed Steve in that kitchen that didn’t belong to them. This kitchen doesn’t belong to them though, and Bucky presses his hand against Steve’s chest and gently nudges him towards the counters. Steve goes without resistance and grips his fingers in Bucky’s waist again, angling his jaw just right when Bucky pushes up to kiss him again.

Another good kiss. Another kiss that Bucky wants to repeat, and see how it works in the thousand to million different ways. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get sick of this. It’s too important.

Steve says, “Bucky,” against his mouth and that’s satisfying too. Bucky brushes his fingers along Steve’s neck and leans back, their hips slotting together. 

“Are you going to stop me?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head and laughs and there’s a split second and Bucky nearly loses his balance as Steve swaps their positions, his hands hooking under his thighs. Bucky gasps as he’s pushed onto the counter and he grabs Steve’s shoulder, trying to steady himself.

“Asshole,” he mutters, taking in a sharp breath.

“You love it,” Steve says, and when he grins it’s his most stupidly fucking innocent grin and Bucky wants to punch him and kiss him. He settles for kissing him hard and Steve reciprocates, his hand sliding up Bucky’s thigh and squeezing, nudging his legs apart. 

“Are you gonna fuck me in the kitchen?” Bucky says, ignoring how his voice shudders.

Steve’s grin widens. “I think you’d love that too,” Steve says, crowding between Bucky’s legs and kissing him again. Bucky lets himself melt into the warmth of Steve’s mouth and his body, tries to stay still as Steve palms his cock through his jeans. It doesn’t really answer their problems, and Bucky is almost kind of annoyed that Steve managed to turn the tables so easily, but he can’t find the power to complain, either.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, his voice still raw. “Maybe someday, but – ” Steve pulls back too quickly and Bucky scrambles to grab his shirt and pull him back. “No,” Bucky growls, “I don’t mean _no_ , I just mean not here.”

Steve gives him a long and serious look and Bucky stares him down.

It works, because Steve tugs him off of the counter and kisses him again and Bucky sighs into it. They move together, the same ending in sight, Steve wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and Bucky following along behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. They end up in Steve’s bedroom, which isn’t exactly surprising because he’s got the _slightly_ bigger bed.

Bucky doesn’t complain when Steve turns him around and sends him sprawling on his back on the bed.

“You okay?” Steve asks as he tugs off his shirt. Typical.

“Yeah,” Bucky says – breathes, pants, who knows – “Fuck.”

Steve throws his shirt on the floor and grins. “Like what you see?”

“God, shut up,” Bucky says, laughing and throwing his head back against the pillows packed at the top of the bed. “I’ve seen you shirtless before,” he quips. “I’ve seen you naked before.”

Steve snorts and says, “Dude, take off your clothes.” Bucky suits up to shoot Steve a glare but hesitates because Steve is undoing his jeans and tugging them off his hips, and Jesus Christ, those hips. Bucky takes a deep breath. “Quit staring.”

“Can’t help it, you’re like a statue of a god.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Barnes.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve laughs, resting his hands on his hips and eyeing Bucky. “You’re still dressed.”

“Jesus, give me like, three seconds.” Bucky sits up further and manages to tug his t-shirt off, and he’s lying back down and working the button and then the zipper when Steve interrupts.

“Three seconds past,” Steve teases, and Bucky finds himself distracted by Steve’s mouth on his collarbone and then working down his chest. Bucky lets out a sigh as Steve undoes his jeans for him, pulling them down his hips and thighs. “You took too long.”

“I have my reasons,” Bucky says, and he feels Steve smile against his hip before he sits up and continues to tug his jeans down and off. Bucky breathes and waits and then gasps when Steve draws his mouth over the fabric of his boxers. “Goddamn.”

“Language,” Steve says, and Bucky feels him smile again as he drags his tongue along the cotton. Bucky pushes his hips up, his natural reaction to the touch as arousal sinks through him more suddenly, desperation pooling after everything he always kept hidden.

“Steve…” Bucky murmurs, trying not to squirm. There’s a pause and then Steve’s fingers hook in his boxers and he pulls those off as well, tugging them off of Bucky’s legs easily. Bucky closes his eyes tightly and focuses on his breathing instead of how he’s exposed. Sure – yeah, they’ve seen each other naked before, that’s what happens when two people kind of adopt each other. It’s a natural progression. But those kind of accidental glances, the embarrassing moment when Bucky opened the bathroom door because he wasn’t paying attention and said _woops_ and ducked out and hid in his bedroom for hours…those kinds of moments aren’t the same.

And in all honesty, Bucky’s pretty sure Steve’s never looked at him for more than a cursory moment, on accident. They always had pretty clear boundaries. But those boundaries are gone now.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes and it shocks Bucky because it had been so goddamn quiet. He opens his eyes and looks at Steve and bites the inside of his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he mutters and Steve starts shaking his head.

“Sorry,” Steve says, and Bucky’s vaguely annoyed that he’s still got his underwear on, though when Bucky looks at Steve he can see his erection, which is at least reassuring. Steve licks his lips and lets out a breath. “You just look stunning.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says with a short laugh. “I’m not your prom date.”

Steve flattens himself along the bed next to Bucky and rolls on his side, cupping Bucky’s face in one of his large hands and kissing him. “I’m serious,” Steve says, breath ghosting along Bucky’s lips. “Let me draw you naked someday.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, turning his head and trying to hide his face. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says, starting to trail kisses down Bucky’s jaw, his throat, his chest. Bucky remembers what Steve said about him thinking too much and lets a kind of white static invade his mind as Steve traces his tongue and fingers over Bucky’s skin.

He falters again when Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky’s cock and then his lips and – well, it’s been sort of a while and Bucky’s thought about this before. He’s just never thought it would be like this.

“Shit,” Bucky hisses, his hips rocking up into the tight heat of Steve’s mouth. Steve pulls back and gives a long stroke of Bucky’s cock with his hand, his spare fingers pressing Bucky back into the sheets by his hip. “That’s no fair.”

“This isn’t a game,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “I want this to last, too,” he says, dipping down again and licking the head of Bucky’s cock once, twice. Bucky leans his head as far back into the pillow as he can, squeezing his eyes shut because he knows if he looks, he won’t be able to stay still for much longer. And he definitely won’t succeed at not coming.

“What are you gonna do?” Bucky asks. His voice shakes. His fist is clenched tight at his side.

Then Steve’s hand finds his and Steve says, “Bucky. Relax.” And Bucky tries, but it takes a few really deep breaths and Steve unfolding his fingers and kissing his palm before he finally feels his shoulders really resting on the sheets. “Are you okay?”

“Not sure,” he admits and he feels Steve lie down next to him.

“Do you wanna get dressed?” Steve asks quietly, but there’s nothing in his tone to imply disappointment and everything knotted in Bucky’s stomach magically unknots.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Steve. “No,” he says, just as quietly, and he smiles when Steve smiles. “I think I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, stroking his knuckles along Bucky’s jaw. Bucky is a little surprised at first by how soothing the gesture is, and he focuses his gaze on Steve’s mouth.

“It’s…been a while.” Bucky frowns as he watches Steve’s mouth turn down.

“Been a while…?”

“Are you gonna make me say it.”

Steve laughs and presses in closer to Bucky, resting a hand on his waist and stroking over the skin. Bucky shivers. “If you can’t say it then I don’t think you can do it,” he says. “It’s okay if you can’t. Seriously.”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles. “It’s been a while since – someone fucked me.”

“Oh.”

Steve pauses and Bucky closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

“How long?” Steve says.

“Uh…six months.”

“That’s when…”

“Shut _up_.”

“Did you let Natasha fuck you? Jesus.”

Bucky ducks his head, pressing his chin against his chest. “ _Please_ shut up?”

“That’s really hot,” Steve says instead, pressing his lips to Bucky’s temple. “That’s all I’m thinking. I’m sorry. Can I…ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you did the fucking?”

“Oh my god,” Bucky snorts, “Um. God, I think – Christ, three months ago? Maybe four. After Nat and I broke up there were a couple of rebound hookups…”

“I’m glad I wasn’t one of them,” Steve says softly. Bucky hums. “So who’d you fuck? Was it Clint? Because that would explain a lot.”

Bucky smacks Steve on the shoulder as hard as he can manage, but even that’s half-hearted as he laughs. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m serious,” Steve says, but Bucky can hear the tilt of amusement in his voice. “I don’t pretend to understand you, Barnes.” He stops to kiss Bucky’s neck and Bucky relaxes into the touch. “Okay,” he says after a minute. “So are you nervous?”

Bucky lets out a breath. “I dunno. This is stupid. We’re just dragging it out.” Steve rakes his fingers down Bucky’s chest and shakes his head.

“That’s not what we’re doing,” he says. “We’re making sure that nothing goes wrong and we don’t fuck up.”

“I’d feel a little more comfortable if I wasn’t the only naked one.”

Steve laughs and rolls over, pulling his underwear off in a couple of quick movements. Bucky hadn’t – hadn’t really been sure he’d do that, and he opens his mouth to say something but gapes instead.

“What?” Steve says. “Don’t stare, it’s rude.”

Bucky pushes himself onto his side and digs his fingers into Steve’s shoulder, pulling him into a greedy kiss. It’s a little awkward like that, lying on his arm – he can’t get between their legs, so instead he maneuvers Steve and Steve follows until he’s on top of Bucky’s chest, naked with each thigh touching Bucky’s waist.

“Hi,” Steve says, hovering over Bucky. Steve rests his hands on Bucky’s chest as if to steady himself and Bucky shifts so he can wrap his fingers around Steve’s cock. Watching Steve’s hips stutter and his mouth open as Bucky gives a long stroke is one of the most satisfying things Bucky’s ever experienced. “Hold on.”

Bucky drops his hand and grins at Steve. Steve bends down to kiss Bucky once before he shifts and gets off the bed. Bucky waits, blinking and catching his breath, as Steve fumbles around in a drawer or something – Bucky isn’t looking.

“Oh,” Bucky says when Steve drops a bottle of lube on the bed. “This is happening.”

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” Steve says, kneeling on the edge of the bed and giving Bucky a long and intent look.

“I want you to keep going. I do.” Bucky swallows. “Steve.”

“Buck.”

Bucky smiles despite himself and watches as Steve set the condom next to the lube and pick the bottle back up, rolling it between his hands.

“I’ll be really careful,” Steve promises, leaning over and planting a kiss on Bucky’s right shoulder. “You can tell me exactly what you’re feeling. And I’ll stop if you need me to stop.”

“Dude,” Bucky mumbles, picking up his hand to drag it through his hair. “I’ve had sex before.”

“But you haven’t had sex with me,” Steve clarifies, kissing Bucky on the lips. “I’m not taking any risks.”

“Thank you.”

There’s movement, the click of the bottle cap and the sound of lube on Steve’s fingers. Steve says, “I’m gonna finger you, is that okay?” and Bucky almost wishes he’d just do it but instead he nods and says _Yeah_ and gasps when two of Steve’s wet fingers push inside. He lifts his hips and Steve reacts, hooks his fingers and probably watches Bucky arching his back. Steve fucks him like that for what feels like a long time and jerks Bucky’s cock with the same rhythm, slow and sharp. Steve kisses his neck and there’s more movement, the shift of Steve’s hips as he adjusts and slides a third finger into Bucky.

“God,” Bucky whispers as Steve twists his fingers. “When was the last time you were fucked?”

Steve laughs. “It’s been a while,” he teases, fingers thrusting and curling. Bucky shudders and opens his eyes, blinking hard against the stars that color his eyelids.

He hesitates then whispers, “C’mon Steve.”

“C’mon what,” Steve says, and he slots their bodies together, running his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock and sliding his fingers almost all the way out before fucking them back in hard.

“Fuck me,” Bucky grits out with the only breath he can manage, grasping the sheets in his fist. Steve lets out a hot breath against Bucky’s skin and pulls his fingers out of Bucky in a quick movement. Bucky gasps, rocks his hips so his cock slides through Steve’s fist, and Steve pulls back without warning. “Steve – ” he whispers, voice and body staggering with the loss.

“Hey,” Steve says when he gets close again, drawing his hand over Bucky’s arm and chest. “I’m right here.” Bucky looks at Steve and lets Steve kiss him, closing his eyes as their mouths press together. He listens to the condom wrapper ripping open and feels Steve’s hands moving as he rolls the condom on his cock. Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s left thigh and lifts.

Bucky tries to shift in accordance but Steve keeps him still, moving their bodies together so that Steve’s positioned between Bucky’s thighs. “It’s okay,” Steve says, kissing both of Bucky’s knees. “Deep breaths.”

“You’re a prick,” Bucky murmurs, but he reaches for Steve’s hand, scrambling to squeeze his fingers. There’s more movement, more of Bucky keeping his eyes shut, and then there’s the cool wetness of the lubed head of Steve’s cock against his hole. Bucky lifts his hips and tries to push back and Steve twines their fingers together and gives another quick squeeze.

“Relax, Buck. Don’t rush it.”

“I _want_ ,” Bucky breathes, his voice ragged. Steve hushes him and spreads more kisses down his throat and to his shoulder, massaging his fingers along Bucky’s knuckles. “I want you inside of me.”

Steve doesn’t argue though his methods are still gradual, and he gives a slow roll of his hips. His cock slides inside Bucky and it’s almost perfect, more difficult than the dildo Natasha had last used but better too, because it’s Steve and there’s almost nothing he wants more. Steve moans as he pushes deeper, his free hand gripping Bucky’s thigh as he presses his hips forward. 

It’s slow, and it kind of hurts, but Steve’s fingers are also still wrapped around Bucky’s cock, giving long strokes at the right moments. He must have some kind of radar, a hypersensitivity to what Bucky wants because it always seems to land on a perfect combination of coiling pleasure and stinging pain.

Bucky stops thinking – words become movements, noises, needs. As Steve’s fucking becomes more steady and rhythmic, Bucky manages to hook his arm around Steve’s neck and pull him even closer. Steve doesn’t stop, never needs to catch his breath, and that seems to work out well because they’re making the bed shudder and Bucky’s starting to lose himself even further as his orgasm draws tighter.

Steve whispers his name, low and wrecked – just “Bucky,” and his fingers grip Bucky’s thigh again, pulling him up so Steve can angle a deeper thrust. Bucky shudders, digs his nails into Steve’s skin and sighs because even though he wants to be loud, it’s all that comes out. Steve gives a few last jackrabbit strokes of his fist around Bucky’s cock and Bucky comes, his entire body tingling hot with it as Steve works him through the spurts, come sticking to both of their chests.

Bucky is blinking back more stars when he feels Steve’s hips jut harder, then rock and shudder and slow and Bucky knows it’s over. The room, which had seemed so loud with the buzzing in his head, suddenly gets deathly quiet, the only things audible the sounds of their gasps.

They’re sticky and uncomfortable and still pressed together, Steve’s hands now gripping Bucky’s hips before he pulls out. Bucky has another moment where he feels a shock at the difference and his body adjusts as he rolls out flat on the bed, Steve kissing his mouth before he gets up to throw out the condom.

“Shitting Christ,” Bucky whispers when Steve comes back. He’s got a warm wash towel in hand and grins at Bucky as he starts to use the damp cloth to wipe off Bucky’s chest. “What are you doing?”

“We,” Steve says, “are going to take a nap, because I’m fucking beat.” Steve bends down to plant a kiss on Bucky’s neck. “And I’m really happy, but we can talk about that later. But I’m not willing to literally sleep next to you when you’re covered in dry come.”

“You have high standards.”

-

If Steve and Bucky becomes closer, no one really seems to notice.

Except maybe Natasha, who gives Bucky longer smiles when they pass each other in the hallway.

“Are you dating Clint?” he asks her when they’re eating lunch together on a Friday afternoon. Natasha often ends up sharing lunch with him, as they have similar office-based shifts – it’s nice, because she’s still one of his closest friends. Bucky sometimes wishes that all of his exes were this friendly with him.

Natasha laughs and takes a French fry off of his cafeteria tray, dipping it in ketchup. “Hell no,” she says, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “We tried it a couple of months back but we’re better off friends.” She chews, then takes a sip of his Coke. “Can’t say I have much luck with guys.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and Natasha gives him a dirty grin. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

Natasha hums. “That depends what you think I’m telling you,” she says in her most sage voice. “If you think I’m telling you that I’m banging Stark’s assistant – Oh my god, James.”

“Too much information,” he says, cringing and rubbing his forehead. “Pepper, Jesus Christ. You had to go and corrupt Pepper.”

“Excuse me?” Natasha says but she laughs. “Corrupt? What am I, some force of toxic poison? And anyway, I’ve heard way grosser from you, whether you mean to say it or not.”

Bucky feels his cheeks prickle. “Things are going well, thanks for asking,” he shoots back, and Natasha laughs again. 

“I was gonna say,” she says, “you two seem to have really hit it off after Colorado.”

Bucky clicks his tongue and sighs. “I guess. Well. It was sort of before we left Colorado,” he admits.

“Did you bang in that house, Barnes? Did you fuck Steve Rogers in a rental?”

Bucky groans. “No, God. Neither of – no, that didn’t happen.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “You know,” she says, “now that I think about it, I don’t think you could ever fuck Steve Rogers anyway.”

“What?” Bucky snaps back, not meaning to sound so defensive. “I mean…what does that mean?”

“Maybe someday,” she shrugs. “So, you didn’t have sex in the rental, that’s good. If Fury found out, he’d literally peel your skin off. Both of you. And then put your skin on Steve and vice versa.”

“That’s really disgusting, Nat.”

“Anyway. So that means you had sex at home. Congratulations on the sex.”

“Seriously.”

“But he fucked you.”

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Come _on_ James. Don’t try to tell me I’m the first and only person who’s ever fucked you.”

Bucky clears his throat. “Well,” he says. “When you put it that way. Um.”

“What did I tell you?” Natasha shrugs and takes a bite of her cheeseburger, chewing and setting it down. She drinks more of his Coke and swallows before saying, “I’m glad you both figured your thing out. I mean, I really hope you never talk to me about it in great detail, but.”

“I’m not you, Tasha. I didn’t even bring it up.”

Natasha smiles. “I know.”

-

Much to Bucky’s delight, they do end up fucking in the kitchen. And on the couch. And once on the bedroom floor though Bucky makes a mental note never to do that again because the carpet made his palm and knees raw, even if the orgasm itself was beyond amazing.

Some things, Bucky thinks as they sit in a café together with their coffee and scones, are worth working for. His job – his arm. His friends. His found family.

And Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have a ton of knowledge on prosthetic limbs so i tried to keep it to a minimum when discussing bucky's; but it is there because i think it's pretty important to his character (especially as he exists in this fic). feel free to let me know if anything at all seems off/misjudged about the portrayal!
> 
> mostly i had fun writing this and it's full of cliches and tropes. i'm happy to say i'm not ashamed of them at all.


End file.
